It was too quiet.
Reich crawled beneath the mound of rotting remains, his body slick with blood and decay that wasn't his. The cold bit into his skin, but it barely registered. His body was whole again—flawless, unmarked—but his mind was frayed, trapped between the memory of being prey and the crushing reality that it could happen again.
The nest loomed above him like a graveyard woven from twisted branches and bones.
And the chicks were still hungry.
A shadow passed overhead.
Reich froze, breath caught in his throat as the mother bird returned, its wings slicing through the sky with effortless grace. In its talons, another carcass—a large stag, its neck twisted unnaturally, antlers snapped like brittle twigs.
The bird dropped the kill into the nest with casual brutality. Blood splattered across the jagged floor, mixing with the stains of countless others.
The chicks shrieked, blind mouths gaping wide. They were grotesque—oversized, skin stretched thin over growing bones, their bodies bloated from unnatural growth.
Reich watched again in horror.
The mother bird didn't just feed them meat. After tearing of a piece of the stag's chest, something else was caught in there, something glowing faintly—a magical core, pulsing softly like a heartbeat.
She fed it to the largest chick.
The effect was immediate.
The chick's body convulsed, then grew—bones lengthening, muscles thickening, skin stretching unnervingly fast. It doubled in size in seconds, its screeches turning deeper, more guttural. Its blind eyes fluttered beneath thin lids, twitching, as if straining to open.
Reich's heart slammed against his ribs.
They're getting stronger.
He swallowed hard, his gaze darting to the faint violet glow still nestled in the gore beside him—the bear's magical core.
Fear crept in.
Not the fear of pain. He'd felt worse.
Not the fear of dying. He couldn't—at least, not yet.
The fear of what happens when the chicks open their eyes.
Because the moment they did… they'd see him.
And he'd be next.
His hand shot out, trembling, fingers closing around the core. It pulsed against his skin, warm and alive.
Knights consume magical cores to claim the essence of the beast—its strength, instincts, even abilities beyond human comprehension.
The words echoed from the book he'd read.
But the body isn't designed to hold more than one core. The conflicting energies ignite within, burning the host from the inside out before the second transformation even begins.
Only two people had ever survived taking in more than one core:
Marianne.
And the book's protagonist.
Reich was neither.
The bear's core wasn't the best option but he didn't have a choice.
His eyes flicked to the edge of the nest—a sheer drop, jagged cliffs descending into nothingness. No bottom in sight. No guarantee of survival.
Even with invulnerability, the fear of the unknown gripped him.
What if this was the thing that broke him?
What if falling wasn't the worst part?
His pulse raced. The chicks shrieked louder, hungrier, their bodies shifting, growing. Their eyelids twitched again.
Reich didn't hesitate anymore.
He consumed the core.
The moment the core passed his lips, it felt like swallowing fire.
Heat surged through his chest, spreading like molten metal, burning, twisting, tearing him apart from the inside.
He collapsed, convulsing, hands clawing at the unknown remains as if he could rip the agony out. His skin felt too tight, his bones too small to contain the force trying to escape.
But the pain was nothing compared to what came next.
Memories.
Not his. Not the beggar's.
The bear's.
Flashes of primal rage. The roar of battle. The crushing grip of talons sinking into flesh. The sharp, suffocating moment when life was ripped away.
Hatred.
Raw. Pure. Blinding.
The bear's hatred for the bird—not just as a predator, but as a thief, a monster that stole everything from it. That rage poured into Reich, filling the hollow spaces where fear had lived.
And something inside him snapped.
The fear was gone.
Replaced by hate.
It burned hotter than the core ever could. His trembling stopped, replaced by a steady, predatory calm.
He wouldn't be prey anymore.
Reich stood, his newly enhanced muscles humming with unfamiliar strength.
His gaze shifted to the chicks, their twitching eyelids nearing the moment they'd finally open.
But the world was different now.
Rage.
It wasn't just his. It was the bear's, a lingering echo of primal hatred fused with his own fractured mind. He could still feel the phantom pain of talons crushing bone, the suffocating grip of death closing in. But it wasn't fear anymore.
It was fuel.
Reich stumbled to the edge of the nest, peering over. The jagged cliff stretched into a void of nothingness, an abyss with no visible bottom. The fall should terrify him.
But it didn't.
He couldn't die.
Yet… his legs refused to move.
His mind screamed at him to jump, to escape, to run from the monstrous bird that would eventually return. But he couldn't.
Because fear hadn't disappeared.
It had changed.
It wasn't the fear of dying. It was the fear of falling. Of the unknown. Of the void that stared back at him.
His fingers clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms until they bled—only for the golden haze to erase the wounds instantly.
Pointless.
Everything felt pointless.
He'd survived crushing talons, shattered bones, and unimaginable agony, yet the simple act of jumping into the unknown rooted him in place.
"I can't die," he whispered, as if saying it aloud would convince him. But the words felt hollow.
His gaze drifted back to the nest. The chicks would be growing larger with every core they consumed.
Soon, they'd see him. Soon, they'd hunt.
And for the first time since awakening, Reich felt something that wasn't fear or rage.
Purpose.
Why run?
The hate burning inside him—the bear's hate—wasn't meant to be ignored. It demanded blood. Revenge.
Not for the bear.
For him.
If those chicks opened their eyes, they'd see him.
But that was only if they would get to.
He'd be their end.
○●○
The sky still burned with echoes of magic long after the battle had ended.
Where once there had been a thriving town, now only ashes and ruin remained. Craters marred the landscape, their edges still glowing faintly with residual energy. The air itself seemed thinner here, stretched taut by the sheer force of power that had been unleashed.
Standing at the edge of the destruction, Veylan observed the aftermath with cold, calculating eyes. His robes, marked with the sigil of the Grand Academy, were pristine despite the ash swirling around him. A tall, imposing figure with sharp, angular features, his expression was carved from stone—unmoved by the carnage before him.
He was one of the Legendary Nine, the most powerful mages on the continent. But unlike the fools who'd fought here, Veylan knew better than to waste power in spectacle.
Behind him, a group of Academy mages hovered nervously, their enchanted notebooks scribbling automatically as they recorded the lingering traces of magical signatures in the air.
"Still unstable, sir," one of them whispered, glancing at the floating glyphs that mapped the invisible ley lines. "The mana density here is… unnatural. It's like the land itself hasn't recovered."
Veylan didn't respond immediately. His gaze was fixed on the epicenter of the destruction—a jagged scar carved deep into the earth, where reality itself had been torn apart.
"Where's the body?" he asked finally, his voice smooth but carrying an undertone of irritation.
The mages exchanged uneasy glances.
"We… haven't found one."
Veylan's eyes narrowed. No body?
Impossible.
Even in battles between the Legendary Nine, something was always left behind—a fragment of bone, a trace of soul residue, an artifact scorched by the clash of power. But here… nothing.
Except—
A faint pulse.
Veylan turned sharply, his senses zeroing in on a distant flicker of power—a signature buried deep within the wreckage, faint but undeniable.
"There," he said, already moving.
The mages scrambled to follow as he descended into the charred ruins, his steps unnervingly silent despite the debris crunching underfoot. They passed the skeletons of buildings, the remnants of lives extinguished in an instant.
When they reached the source, Veylan stopped.
At first glance, it was nothing more than a patch of scorched earth, darkened by blood long dried. But beneath it…
Residual magic. Faint, but persistent.
He knelt, pressing his palm against the ground. His fingers glowed faintly, drawing out the hidden strands of mana woven into the very soil.
A signature.
Familiar.
Not from the mages who'd fought here.
Something else.
Someone else.
A thread of energy tangled with remnants of an older, cruder force—chaotic luck magic, woven into the fabric of whatever had survived here.
Veylan's jaw tightened.
This wasn't just leftover residue.
This was active.
And dangerously unstable.
"Sir… is that—" one of the mages began, but Veylan silenced them with a glance.
His mind raced—not with panic, but with cold, precise calculation.
One of the combatants had been Alister—a name etched into the annals of magic, and into Veylan's own past. They had fought side by side once, long before arrogance had dulled Alister's judgment. Back when ambition hadn't yet rotted him from the inside out.
"You always believed power was the answer," Veylan murmured to the ashes. "And now, here you are—reduced to dust."
The other mage? A mystery.
Veylan hadn't recognized the magical signature from the battle reports. But whoever it was, they'd been strong enough to wound Alister—and perhaps even kill him.
That fact alone demanded attention.
But this… this residual energy was different.
It didn't belong to either of them.
Something—or someone—had been caught in the crossfire.
And somehow, survived.
Veylan stood, dusting ash from his hands, his expression unreadable.
"Expand the search perimeter," he ordered. "I want every fluctuation mapped. If anything moves, I want to know."
The mages scrambled to obey, but Veylan's attention was already drifting toward the distant horizon, where the jagged peaks of the Magic Forest rose like a crown of thorns.
Alister's last experiment had been tied to that forest.
Veylan had warned him. "Magic left untamed will devour its master." But Alister never listened.
Now, it seemed, someone—or something—was walking in the ashes of that failure.
"Alister's failure—and perhaps an opportunity waiting to be claimed.
Veylan's eyes narrowed. He wasn't here just to investigate. He was here to find answers.
"Beyond the ashes, something is changing. Not a survivor. Not a mistake. Something new."
And if those answers bled when cut, even better.
[AN] Hey there, reader!
Thanks for sticking with 31 Days to Die this far. This chapter was all about transformation. We've gone from survival to something darker: purpose born from rage, and power born from pain.
Reich's invulnerability doesn't make him untouchable—it makes his suffering linger in ways most people would break under. But it's that suffering that's shaping him into something… different. Something new.
And then there's Veylan—because what's a chaotic world without someone watching from the shadows, calculating, waiting? The world isn't just harsh; it's political, it's cruel, and it's always watching.
If this chapter hit you hard (or left you wondering what's next), let me know in the comments! I'd love to hear your thoughts on Reich's transformation and your theories about Veylan's true intentions.
Add 31 Days to Die to your library if you're enjoying the journey, because things are only going to get more intense from here.
Until the next chapter—
– Kuroganne